Acres, Natalie - Sex Club [Cowboy Sex 5] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (12 page)

“Let me worry about Ansley,” Tristan said.

“He ain’t lying, man. She’s unattainable,” Elliott assured him, stepping into his jeans. “Aren’t you, Ansley?”

She wasn’t so sure now. She yanked her arm forward and broke Tristan’s grip. “One thing is certain. A stranger doesn’t bark his orders and expect me to toss him a collar and leash like some of the women frequenting this club. Like I said—You. Don’t. Own. Me.”

Tristan crossed his arms. At first, she did the same. Then she decided, what the hell? He apparently wanted an eyeful. And she might as well show the man what he’d forever miss.

She raised her arms out to the side and twirled around. “Like what you see?”

Tristan’s carnal growl filled the room. “I may not own you, but soon I will have you,” he said in a guttural voice, adding two heavy slaps to her ass.

She yelped, not from pain but from pure pleasure. His palm against her bare bottom felt like shards of broken glass prickling her skin. It was an exquisite feeling, and Ansley immediately knew, one day soon, she’d beg for more of the same.

“Now get dressed. If I ask again, it will happen only after I find a paddle and bust that sweet ass until it’s blistered.” He grinned, apparently wise to the fact of how much she enjoyed the quick smack.

In fact, the wallop to her cheeks sort of changed the game. She was ready to throw herself at him. She pictured her arms around his neck, her lips crashing against his, and a slow grind against his denim-clad cock.

She imagined a full scenario, a dirty fantasy. Tristan wouldn’t resist her. He’d whip out his penis, part her folds, and slip the tip of his dick right inside her vagina. Then, slow and easy, he’d fuck her until closing time, until she begged for mercy.

“Ansley, I’m not kidding around here,” Tristan said firmly. “If you aren’t dressed and back out front within ten minutes, Bailey and I plan to leave you to the task of running this bar by yourself. I can only imagine how your sister and Ms. McKay might feel once they discover on the busiest night of the year, you abandoned ship and jumped a cowboy or two.”

“Don’t you threaten me,” she said crossly. “Just who do you think you are?”

He glared at the Killians, acting like he expected them to dress and go. He would be sorely disappointed. They may have managed to replace their clothing in record time, but they weren’t the kind of fellows to leave a woman to fend for herself.

Tristan thrust his hand forward. “I’m Tristan Voorhees, by the way. I work here. You are?”

“Elliott Killian.”

Ansley rolled her eyes as Elliott and Tristan shook hands. How sensational. The good-old-boys club always amused her, particularly in clubs like Clink. A man could fuck a broad sideways and upside down one week, pass her off to his buddy the next, and return for sloppy seconds the week after. The whole time, the guys remained friends, slapping backs and buying one another drinks.

Women were different. They didn’t like sharing with one another.

By the time she paid attention to the guys again, Graham was shaking hands with Tristan, too. “Graham Killian. We own the stables down the road a piece.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve heard of the place. We owe you a big thank-you for the turnout tonight. Since I’ve been here, we haven’t seen a crowd like this.”

“You’ve worked at Clink on and off for five months, more off than on, I might add,” Ansley bitterly reminded him. It was then when she realized an important fact. Tristan’s disappearance irked her because she still had no idea where he went when he took a leave of absence. Why did he leave on short notice? And why in the hell did Patience hire him back?

Tristan looped his arm around her waist, drawing her against his side. “A lot can happen in a short period of time, though. Can’t it, doll?”

Oh, that’s right. Kimberly and Patience put him on payroll again for a specific reason—to irritate the hell out of her!

She felt her face twist into a frown as she squirmed, trying to break his hold.

Damn him. He was trying to make the Killian brothers think they’d already fucked. The least he could’ve done was followed through on the act if he wanted to play it off like she belonged to him.

She made a mental note to fire him at first light. She’d enjoy telling him to get lost.

His fingers splayed as he cupped her hip, and amazingly, she relaxed, even enjoyed the attention. Then, to her surprise, he dropped his hand lower and firmly stroked her rear, his fingers walking toward the crack of her ass!

This was maddening, sexual, and far too intimate. Hell! She’d barely received more than a peck on the lips!

She jerked. He smirked. “Shh, doll,” he whispered, nipping her ear. “We both know these boys have seen you in action.”

Ansley swallowed the lump in her throat. Sure enough, Tristan deliberately painted a certain picture. He apparently wanted the Killians to think she was out with the old and in with the new.

As much as she tried to defy her feelings, she couldn’t win. Tristan’s hand on her bare flesh tantalized her. Every caress teased her. When he patted her bottom again, she found herself moving toward him rather than trying to wiggle away. If for no other reason, she wanted to press her tightly drawn nipples against his shirt, hiding the proof of her unstoppable arousal.

He stared down his long, slender nose. “Are you ready to dress now, doll? I’d hate to keep your guests waiting.”

“They’re customers with plenty of entertainment provided. They won’t mind.”

He narrowed his gaze and dipped his head. With his forehead mashed against hers, he whispered, “Don’t sass me, Ansley. I have a feeling these boys wouldn’t appreciate it if I interrupted their foreplay only to turn you over my knee, yank free my belt, and stripe that pretty ass with streaks you’ll wear for days.”

Her heart fell from its chamber. She fought to find the right words, to put up a hell of a fight, an argument she desperately wanted to end with hardcore punishment, a spanking she’d enjoy to the extreme.

If Tristan went to this much trouble to arouse her, the least he could do was satisfy her! Instead, she realized she had no other choice but to—ah shucks, the truth hurt—mind him. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

God, she hated abiding by Tristan’s rules. She would not have some damned-ass Dom telling her what to do.

This was
her club
. She was in
her
office
. She was
the boss.

“I don’t need you standing there glowering at me,” she said, snatching her clothing from Graham. “I’m capable of dressing on my own.” Her gaze drifted between Graham and Elliott, both of whom looked amused.

They would pay dearly for this. The next time they came to her, looking for a quick romp, she’d say, “Sorry boys,” and pull out her most exquisite ten-inch jackrabbit vibrator. And if Tristan thought she gave him a show, why, what she held in store for the Killians would border along the downright absurd.

She glared at Tristan then, discovering his expression was one of pure, raging need. His hooded eyes were barely open as he watched her wiggle her arms through the soft satin lingerie loops. She then reached behind her back, nervously working to reassemble her bra.

“I’ll help,” Tristan growled, his hands sweeping across hers. “We need to make sure you keep these sweet, ripe pumpkins covered.”

She jerked but refused to join Graham and Elliott’s laughter. How dare Tristan make fun of her boobs! And just what did he mean by “ripe,” exactly? Was that another slam at her breasts, the size-matters kind of jab, insinuating she still had room to grow?

Argh!
She was pissed at him all over again. He just deliberately slid under her skin at every turn. He enjoyed it. He thought of their banter as foreplay.

Why, she’d show him!

The rebellious era lasted about ten seconds, rather than a few decades. After he refastened her brassiere, his fingers entwined with hers, and she stilled. She didn’t move, and neither did he. He apparently realized what kind of sensations he stirred, the hotness from the intense, raging fires he alone could set faster than he could strike the next match.

On second thought, he must’ve been staring at her ass. She felt his sweltering gaze there. And for a moment, she thought of pleading with him, begging him to cool the blistering heat he’d caused within her swollen folds, deep inside her moist channel.

Good Lord, she needed to screw.

A masculine grunt fell from his lips. He placed some distance between them.

“Did you like what you saw?” she asked, twirling around and facing him.

“You’re damn straight I did.”

Elliott smirked. “If I were half a cowboy, I’d—”

“I have a feeling we’ll be friends sometime in the future,” Tristan interrupted him. “If I were you, I wouldn’t let that next word fall from your mouth. It’s safer hanging there in your upper lip.”

“Is this your idea of being a cock block?” Ansley asked. “Or how about a pussy plug?” A beat later she said, “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t fucked tonight.”

“Nice image,” he said quietly. “And the night is still young.”

“Empty promises,” she grumbled, continuing to dress.

“Careful, darlin’,” Tristan drawled. “Don’t extend the invitation if you aren’t ready for the guests who are lining up and anxious to attend the party.”

She thinned her lips and clenched her fists, balled them up at her sides. She was speechless. Tristan had plans and intended to act on them soon. He might as well go ahead and give her a date and time.

“From what I’ve discovered today, I’d have a full-time job if I took the position of keeping cowboys out of your bed.”

“What are you implying?” she asked. Now, Elliott and Graham would likely rip him to shreds. They would protect her honor.

“Oh come on, Ansley. I walk in here and find you with these two fellows, and you expect me to dance around shooting straight with you?”

“I’m your boss. I suggest you tread softly.”

He knelt down and retrieved her shirt as she zipped up her skirt. “You want men to think you’re easy, for some reason. You want them to believe a good time is cheap, but extended pleasures in your bed will come with a high price, a lot of waiting around, teasing, and flirting. Assuming the man, or men, you want can afford you. You’re into name brands, big-ticket items, and last names—oh, those are extremely important, too. Men with money are the only fellas who’ll know the good fortune of your company.”

“That’s enough,” Graham said, stalking after him.

Elliott clenched his fists. “You’re way off base, man. Ansley may own the kink club in town, but she’s far from a whore.”

He shrugged. “And I couldn’t agree more, but fact is, Ansley stirs trouble for attention. One of these days, she’ll bite off more than she can chew and end up hurt, or worse, dead.”

With that he turned, stormed out of the office, and probably never saw her hot red pumps flying behind him. When they bashed against the wall, she screamed, “I’ve had enough of your arrogant ass and stupid riddles!”

It was in that moment that she realized a truer fact. No, oh no, she hadn’t enjoyed Tristan nearly enough. In fact, she couldn’t wait to find him in her bed, but first, she and her sexy bartender needed to have a powwow. Apparently, he knew something about her earlier phone call, and he was concerned. Perhaps she should’ve been worried, too.

* * * *

She made her apologies to Graham and Elliott, and they promised to give her a rain check after the club closed or later in the weekend. She felt like a whore groveling for cock. The Killian brothers wouldn’t necessarily want her to feel slutty. They were hardcore when it came to bedding her, but they were kind and compassionate men, nothing like Mr. Voorhees.